While attending Green Beret School, candidates were allowed to receive mail, a real morale booster, as long as it wasn't a Dear John letter. One evening, late, I was summoned to the headshed (headquarters) at Camp MacKall. When you are summoned to the HQ there is a protocol you go through when you enter. You bang on the door, get permission to enter, walk in and stand three feet from the Sergeants desk and report in, "Sergeant, Captain Ochsenbein reporting as ordered". Now typically an officer does not report to a Non-Commissioned Officer but in this course you did. When in Rome, you do as Romans do, you report to the Sergeant. I was in the cooperate and graduate mode. If they said jump, I said how hi.....Until now.
In the Sergeants possession was a letter from my wife and it was obvious there was contraband in it. I knew what it was because I asked her to send it and being the good wife she is, she sent a ton of it. A little more descretion would have been in order but it was the thought that counts. The Staff Sergeant, named Sergeant McFad...., showed me the letter and told me to open it in front of him. I told him I wouldn't do it. Well the look on ol' McFad's face quickly indicated he was not accustom to being told no or at least he hadn't heard it in a while. I knew then Army Daze was setting in. He said, Captain you are going to open it and you are going to do it right now. I said, no, I'm not opening it, I have rights and as a matter of fact you have to deliver it because if you don't you are violating federal law. He looked at me like, are you BSing me or not. I knew then I had him, so I thought. McFad looked at me and said open it. I said no. He said, Captain, get down and give me 10 (for those of you not familiar with the lingo, give me 10, it means give me 10 push-ups). I jumped down, knocked out ten and jumped back up. He said open it. I said no and the process started all over again. This went on until I couldn't do a damn push up. He then had an M-60 machine gun brought in and told me to hold it at port arms. The M-60 weighs about 23 pounds without ammunition and it gets real heavy, real quick. I stood there for about five minutes and he told me to open the letter. I said no. He said, go outside and run around the building and then report back in. I did that and reported back in. McFad said open it. I said no. He said get down and give me ten. I did and when you do push-ups with a weapon you have to put the weapon on the back of your hands. That was sweet because the M-60 was damn heavy. I got back up, (I wasn't jumping back up any more). He said open it. I said no. So, there I went running around the building again. Well this went on for about two and a half hours. I was threatened to be kicked out, I was threatened bodily harm, you name, I was threatened with it. But I didn't give up. Finally they told me to go back to my shack. When I left I told them they either had to deliver the mail or send it back. He said the letter would be sent back.
Well I later found out after I had completed the Green Beret course that what I had done by refusing to open the letter created quite a buzz around headquarters back at Bragg. I became known as the renegade Captain. I was shocked to find out the powers contemplated on removing me from the course because of my obstinance and failure to follow instructions. General Lutz caught wind, stepped in and told the Colonel that I was the type of guy he wanted in the Green Berets and to knock the crap off about removing me from the course but to not back off making it tough on me. Well they didn't back off. They dogged me the rest of Phase I. It sucked but I wasn't going to let them win. Well at the conclusion of Phase I, as we (there were just a few of us left, we lost 77% of our class) were leaving the compound, SSG McFad gave me the letter. I smiled, said thanks, opened it and ate some of the best tasting beef jerky I had ever tasted. I split it with my team. There were only four of us left after starting with 22.
Now jump forward about two and a half years. Lots of water under the bridge. I was now back at Bragg and assigned to 7th Special Forces Group. We had four huey helicopters assigned to the detachment. I was flying a mission one day in support of the SOT compound at Mott Lake. We referred to the compound as the Mott Lake compound. SOT stood for Special Operations Training and that's all I'll say about that. On this day, as part of the training, we were going to do some STABO training. STABO standing for Stabalized Tactical Airborne Operations. It involved lifting up four guys who were attaced to the ends of ropes. The other ends of course were hooked into the helicopter. The ropes were about 125 feet long. It was a clear cool day, about 45 degrees outside. We landed at the compound and I had my co-pilot give the flight briefing to those we would be working with. I was standing in the background and low and behold I saw that SSG McFad...was going through the training. A big smile came over my face and I thought, payback time (payback is a medavac). We conducted several routine STABO lifts and then it was SSG McFads turn. I felt sorry for the other three guys with him because what was getting ready to happen was not going to be pretty. It was not going to be a routine STABO. I picked the guys up to about 100' above the trees and immediately flew over to Mott Lake, which was less than a quarter mile away. I brought the aircraft to a hover right over the middle of the lake and started a slow descent. When it dawned on the guys on what I was doing, they made a futal attempt to climb the ropes. It was impossible. Well I dunked them in Mott Lake like tea bags. I skied them around in the lake for another five minutes, making sure their heads stayed above the water. I didn't want to drown McFad. That thought never entered my mind. I then took McFad for a twenty minute flight, ensuring he got plenty cold and he did. When I took them back to the compound they could not stand up from the cold and the leg straps had cut off the circulation to their legs. They flopped down on the ground like fish. Needless to say they were pissed and was wondering what the hell was going on. As I landed the aircraft next to them, others were rubbing their leggs to get the circulation going. A Captain ran over to the aircraft wanting to know what was going on. I told him to hang tight and that I would be over to explain everything. I walked over to the gathered crowd and they were not happy. Everyone was talking all at once and I told everyone to shut up. I immediately apologized to the other three guys on what had just happened to them. I told them this was SSG McFads fault and they could blame him and take it out on him later. I looked a McFad and said, "Do you remember me? Do you remember the letter opening incident at Camp MacKall?" He said he did. I said, "You know, SSG McFad, we live in a very small community and you should never screw with your own people because what comes around, goes around and "it just went around". Payback is a medavac". He understood exactly what I was saying and so did the others. The only thing SSG McFad said to me was, "Sir, that was a good one." I looked at the crowd, said get the next four ready, turned around, went to the aircraft and fired it up. It was time to complete the days training. Not another word was said. I often wondered what the other guys did to McFad.
SSG McFad....is a great soldier and we ran into each other throughout the world on different occasions. We became good friends and I'm glad he's on our side. Army Daze.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Friday, March 2, 2007
Green Beret School? What was I thinking.......
I started my Special Operations career way back in 1981. I was the 5th Special Forces Group Aviation Detachment Commander at Fort Bragg, NC. The failure of Desert One had taken place and there was a surge in Special Operations Aviation. I flew the guys in the Green Berets for about a year and started entertaining the idea of becoming one. That meant having to go to Green Beret School which lasted about five and a half months. And from all the stories, I knew it was not going to be a picnic. So, I started the process. It wasn't easy getting permission to attend. I had to jump over many hurdles ending with an interview by General Joe Lutz, Commander of all Green Berets. He told me, "Captain, I'm going to let you attend, against my better judgement. You have no experience doing this. You're a Military Police Officer and a pilot to boot and I don't think you can hack it. But I'll give you that chance and if you fail, I'm going to kick you out of the Army." I left his office on Cloud 9. Hell, I was going to the prestigious Green Beret School and become an honest to God, Green Beret. What was I thinking........Army Daze was setting in.
I worked my tail off getting ready. I was walking 20 plus miles with a 50 pound ruck, running sub 12 minute miles with LBE and combat boots, reading everything I could get my hands on to include writing op orders, conducting patrols, ambushes and raids and anything else to help me get ready. By the time my school date rolled around I was a lean mean fighting machine. So I thought. On the first day of training we parachuted into Camp MacKall, (Special Forces training area about 30 miles due west of Fort Bragg) went on a 15 mile road march (those are fun), moved into the tar paper shack area (home) and did push-ups, sit-ups and other blistering physical training until I could barely stand up. We did all this in heavy gravel to the point my hands were bruised, bleeding and they hurt so bad I could hardly put them on the ground. The verbal one-way conversations the cadre had for us also took a toll on our mental state. With out a doubt they were trying to weed out the weak, real fast. And it didn't take long. Green Beret candidates were dropping like flies. We lost a fourth of our class the first day. I thought, what the hell have I gotten myself into.....What was I thinking......
There were several things that kept me going those first few days. First, I had never quit at anything my entire life and I wasn't about to start now, second, how could I look at myself in the mirror knowing that I was a quitter and third, the General was going to kick my ass if I didn't make it and I didn't want to let him down.
Green Beret school was absolutely the most physically demanding and mentally challenging thing I have ever done in my entire life and yet the most satisfying when all said and done. It was just getting to the "all said and done" that was the tough part.
We lived on C-Rations (MREs weren't invented yet) the whole time we were in Phase I. It got so cold in December, we had to have the Cadre open up our food because our hands were so cold you couldn't manipulate the P-38 (small can opener) to open the cans. They would form two lines with six cadre on each side. They would open your food for you as you walked between them and you had to have all your food eaten by the time you got to the end of the line. Nothing like stuffing your entire meal in your mouth all at once. Everybody looked like chipmunks until you could choke the food down. No purpose, just another way to break you down in an attempt to get you to quit. It didn't work.
In Special Forces I learned real quick that you had to improvise, adapt and overcome (shoot, move and communicate). On occassion you had to push the envelope to accomplish the mission but you had to do it very carefully. There were and are consequences for going outside the envelope. You must understand those consequences, understand the risk and make that decision. We operated on a different playing field than most people. The risk almost always included the potential for someone getting injured or killed. Most people don't have to deal with that kind of reality. Don't get me wrong, I'm a person of rules because typically rules are there for a reason. When you operate in the fog of war, you must rely on rules, laws, commanders intent and doctrine to accomplish the mission.
During Phase One, I made the conscience decision to break the rules. Breaking these rules and getting caught would mean getting kicked out of Green Beret School. I had an accomplice, a First Lieutenant, he was my Executive Officer on my A-Team. We discussed our plan carefully, understood the risk of being kicked out of school and the potential of getting hurt. We decided our mission was a go. We were going to break out of the compound (climb a ten foot fence with concertina wire on top) and go get some real food. Yep, we were willing to risk it all for a #1 combo from McDonalds. Actually the combo idea had not been invented yet but you know what I mean. We were starving and wanted some real food.
The plan was to wait until everyone was asleep, (go figure) make our bunks look like someone was sleeping in them, (the cadre did bed checks) sneak out of the tar paper shack and move to the furtherest point in the fence away from the center of the compound. We would throw a blanket over the concertina wire, climb over the fence and then head to the airfield base of operations. I knew the airfield was manned and there was a phone we could use inside base ops. Everything went smooth. We climbed the fence and made it with out a scratch and then beatfeeted to the airfield. It took about an hour and a half from the time we left the shack until we hit the door of base ops. The guy in base ops about crapped his pants when we walked in. We looked like crap and I'm sure he thought we were there to kill him. We gave him some cocken bull story and told him we needed to use the phone. I called my bud Dave, told him the situation and in 90 minutes he arrived at the airfield with enough food for 10 people and we ate like kings. I also had him bring about 30 candy bars. We laughted, told stories, ate burgers and drank coke until we couldn't move. When we finished Dave dropped us off close to the compound. There was no way to walk the distance, we didn't have time. We got over the fence and then it took us forever to get the blanket off the wire but we did it. We made it back to our bunks and everything was as we left it. We got one hour of rack time but it didn't matter because we were full of real food. When the team stirred in the morning, I gave everyone two candy bars. It was a great morale boost for them. I told them to not ask where the candy came from and to keep them hidden. I felt great. I had just accomplished my first Special Opertions Mission: Operation Hamburger.....I was happy and then it was back to.........Army Daze.
I worked my tail off getting ready. I was walking 20 plus miles with a 50 pound ruck, running sub 12 minute miles with LBE and combat boots, reading everything I could get my hands on to include writing op orders, conducting patrols, ambushes and raids and anything else to help me get ready. By the time my school date rolled around I was a lean mean fighting machine. So I thought. On the first day of training we parachuted into Camp MacKall, (Special Forces training area about 30 miles due west of Fort Bragg) went on a 15 mile road march (those are fun), moved into the tar paper shack area (home) and did push-ups, sit-ups and other blistering physical training until I could barely stand up. We did all this in heavy gravel to the point my hands were bruised, bleeding and they hurt so bad I could hardly put them on the ground. The verbal one-way conversations the cadre had for us also took a toll on our mental state. With out a doubt they were trying to weed out the weak, real fast. And it didn't take long. Green Beret candidates were dropping like flies. We lost a fourth of our class the first day. I thought, what the hell have I gotten myself into.....What was I thinking......
There were several things that kept me going those first few days. First, I had never quit at anything my entire life and I wasn't about to start now, second, how could I look at myself in the mirror knowing that I was a quitter and third, the General was going to kick my ass if I didn't make it and I didn't want to let him down.
Green Beret school was absolutely the most physically demanding and mentally challenging thing I have ever done in my entire life and yet the most satisfying when all said and done. It was just getting to the "all said and done" that was the tough part.
We lived on C-Rations (MREs weren't invented yet) the whole time we were in Phase I. It got so cold in December, we had to have the Cadre open up our food because our hands were so cold you couldn't manipulate the P-38 (small can opener) to open the cans. They would form two lines with six cadre on each side. They would open your food for you as you walked between them and you had to have all your food eaten by the time you got to the end of the line. Nothing like stuffing your entire meal in your mouth all at once. Everybody looked like chipmunks until you could choke the food down. No purpose, just another way to break you down in an attempt to get you to quit. It didn't work.
In Special Forces I learned real quick that you had to improvise, adapt and overcome (shoot, move and communicate). On occassion you had to push the envelope to accomplish the mission but you had to do it very carefully. There were and are consequences for going outside the envelope. You must understand those consequences, understand the risk and make that decision. We operated on a different playing field than most people. The risk almost always included the potential for someone getting injured or killed. Most people don't have to deal with that kind of reality. Don't get me wrong, I'm a person of rules because typically rules are there for a reason. When you operate in the fog of war, you must rely on rules, laws, commanders intent and doctrine to accomplish the mission.
During Phase One, I made the conscience decision to break the rules. Breaking these rules and getting caught would mean getting kicked out of Green Beret School. I had an accomplice, a First Lieutenant, he was my Executive Officer on my A-Team. We discussed our plan carefully, understood the risk of being kicked out of school and the potential of getting hurt. We decided our mission was a go. We were going to break out of the compound (climb a ten foot fence with concertina wire on top) and go get some real food. Yep, we were willing to risk it all for a #1 combo from McDonalds. Actually the combo idea had not been invented yet but you know what I mean. We were starving and wanted some real food.
The plan was to wait until everyone was asleep, (go figure) make our bunks look like someone was sleeping in them, (the cadre did bed checks) sneak out of the tar paper shack and move to the furtherest point in the fence away from the center of the compound. We would throw a blanket over the concertina wire, climb over the fence and then head to the airfield base of operations. I knew the airfield was manned and there was a phone we could use inside base ops. Everything went smooth. We climbed the fence and made it with out a scratch and then beatfeeted to the airfield. It took about an hour and a half from the time we left the shack until we hit the door of base ops. The guy in base ops about crapped his pants when we walked in. We looked like crap and I'm sure he thought we were there to kill him. We gave him some cocken bull story and told him we needed to use the phone. I called my bud Dave, told him the situation and in 90 minutes he arrived at the airfield with enough food for 10 people and we ate like kings. I also had him bring about 30 candy bars. We laughted, told stories, ate burgers and drank coke until we couldn't move. When we finished Dave dropped us off close to the compound. There was no way to walk the distance, we didn't have time. We got over the fence and then it took us forever to get the blanket off the wire but we did it. We made it back to our bunks and everything was as we left it. We got one hour of rack time but it didn't matter because we were full of real food. When the team stirred in the morning, I gave everyone two candy bars. It was a great morale boost for them. I told them to not ask where the candy came from and to keep them hidden. I felt great. I had just accomplished my first Special Opertions Mission: Operation Hamburger.....I was happy and then it was back to.........Army Daze.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
1980 Cuban Refugee Crisis in Miami....
Do any of you remember or have even heard of the 1980 Cuban Refugee Crisis that happened in Miami, Florida? I dare say that 99 percent of you reading this were even a gleam in your dad's eye then. Well I was a brand spanking new pilot, commanding a Military Police Aviation Detachment at Fort Bragg, NC. Great duty! I had five OH-58A helicopters (Bell 206 civilian model) to my disposal. And I mean to my disposal. I could take one out for a spin 24/7. Little did I know at that time what a luxury that was. I relish those daze because what I wouldn't give to take one out for a spin now.
Well in April/May of 1980, the knuckle head in Cuba decided to open his doors (one-way) and let those leave Cuba who wanted to. However he also opened up all his prisons and let all the inmates head for the great U.S. of A. Huge flotillas of thugs, rapists, murders and many real decent people were heading for Key West and the Eastern shores of Florida. As a result of this my unit was alerted and the next thing I knew, my soldiers, my helicopters and I were heading for Miami, Florida. Specifically Opaloca Airport. That is where we operated out of for the next several months. Again, great duty!! You don't know how many times I said, "...and they pay me to do this...there is a God". On a typical day we flew anywhere from West Palm Beach to the tip of Key West. I would fly 50 yards off the beach, 20 feet off the deck and look at all the babes along the beach. The only time I gained altitude was to bounce over a fishing pier. I can't tell you how many kites I tore up flying up and down those beaches. I'm still probably being cussed.
As a brand new aviation commander and as a new pilot (5 months out of flight school) I managed to scare the sweet be-Jesus out of myself on several occasions. I was shot at, (Miami riots were going on, that's another story) damn near flew into the side of the US Customs building and screwed with the sharks off shore by hovering over them. Of course, being a young kid with the infallible attitude, "that nothing could happen to me" I never considered having an engine failure over those big fish. Thank God that never happened. But the most memorable thing that happened to me was something that I did, of which I'm sure no one else has done since. It was something that caused me to get several of the biggest ass chewings that I ever received during my career in the Army. But I took it with a smile.
On a daily routine I flew over this man made structure that is well known. I would fly around it, land next to it and looked at it everyday with awe. And then I got the hair brained idea to land in the middle of it. And I don't mean just land in the middle of it but I mean put that sucker down on the 50 yard line. Yep, I was going to land that helicopter on the 50 yard line of the Orange Bowl. You know, the football stadium called the Orange Bowl.
Well I thought it all out and knew I had to get an accomplice to take pictures while on the ground. Well I picked Sergeant Mac (can't give his whole name), a Military Police Staff Sergeant then. He was a good friend of mine and when I approached him with the scheme, he said, "Hell yea, let's do it". The next thing I knew we were heading for the Orange Bowl with cameras in hand. I discussed my approach into the stadium with him and upon arrival we made the approach and landed on the 50 yard line. I shut down the aircraft which takes about five minutes, to include waiting for the blades to stop turning. We jumped out of the aircraft with all smiles getting in place to take some pictures. We would have high-fived but that had not been invented yet. All of a sudden, in the middle of the picture taking, a maniac appeared screaming at the top of his lungs. My first thought was "Oh Crap". I quickly found out he was the ground keeper and he was not a happy camper. He cussed me like a sailor for landing on his turf saying something to the affect that the skids on my helicopter were going to put ruts in the ground and mess up his playing field. What he didn't know and I wasn't about to tell him, is when you shut the aircraft down, the fuel lines purge and a pint or more of jet fuel is dumped on the ground. The results of that would not turn up until I was long gone. So about the time I got this great American calmed down, a rabid Captain showed up and began ripping my butt and wanted to know who gave me permission to land there. Well after I lied...I mean, talked my way out of that one, Mac and I jumped in the aircraft, fired it up and left. We were laughing about what we had just gotten away with when I got a call from headquarters over the radio. The message was, "The Colonel wants to see you immediately". Needless to say that radio call killed the laughter and all I could think of was, my career is over, I'm a dead man, I'll never fly again and I wonder how bad the Alpha Charlie (Ass Chewing) was going to be. We bee-lined straight to the airport so I could get this over with as soon as possible. I parked the bird and reported to the ol' man. I could tell he wasn't happy when I walked into his office. He didn't let me down either. He started ripping me the second I started into his office. He started off with, "Lieutenant what the hell were you thinking?" "I can't believe you landed that helicopter in the Orange Bowl and didn't ask me to come along so I could have flown in there with you". "I've been wanting to do that since we got here." I knew then I was still in business. I said I wouldn't make that mistake again and was on my way. I immediately jumped back in the aircraft and took off. I flew over the Orange Bowl and as I looked down I could see the brown spot already forming where the fuel had dumped on the ground. I just smiled and thought, yep that was me, and I thought again, "....and they pay me to do this...there is a God"......Army Daze.
Well in April/May of 1980, the knuckle head in Cuba decided to open his doors (one-way) and let those leave Cuba who wanted to. However he also opened up all his prisons and let all the inmates head for the great U.S. of A. Huge flotillas of thugs, rapists, murders and many real decent people were heading for Key West and the Eastern shores of Florida. As a result of this my unit was alerted and the next thing I knew, my soldiers, my helicopters and I were heading for Miami, Florida. Specifically Opaloca Airport. That is where we operated out of for the next several months. Again, great duty!! You don't know how many times I said, "...and they pay me to do this...there is a God". On a typical day we flew anywhere from West Palm Beach to the tip of Key West. I would fly 50 yards off the beach, 20 feet off the deck and look at all the babes along the beach. The only time I gained altitude was to bounce over a fishing pier. I can't tell you how many kites I tore up flying up and down those beaches. I'm still probably being cussed.
As a brand new aviation commander and as a new pilot (5 months out of flight school) I managed to scare the sweet be-Jesus out of myself on several occasions. I was shot at, (Miami riots were going on, that's another story) damn near flew into the side of the US Customs building and screwed with the sharks off shore by hovering over them. Of course, being a young kid with the infallible attitude, "that nothing could happen to me" I never considered having an engine failure over those big fish. Thank God that never happened. But the most memorable thing that happened to me was something that I did, of which I'm sure no one else has done since. It was something that caused me to get several of the biggest ass chewings that I ever received during my career in the Army. But I took it with a smile.
On a daily routine I flew over this man made structure that is well known. I would fly around it, land next to it and looked at it everyday with awe. And then I got the hair brained idea to land in the middle of it. And I don't mean just land in the middle of it but I mean put that sucker down on the 50 yard line. Yep, I was going to land that helicopter on the 50 yard line of the Orange Bowl. You know, the football stadium called the Orange Bowl.
Well I thought it all out and knew I had to get an accomplice to take pictures while on the ground. Well I picked Sergeant Mac (can't give his whole name), a Military Police Staff Sergeant then. He was a good friend of mine and when I approached him with the scheme, he said, "Hell yea, let's do it". The next thing I knew we were heading for the Orange Bowl with cameras in hand. I discussed my approach into the stadium with him and upon arrival we made the approach and landed on the 50 yard line. I shut down the aircraft which takes about five minutes, to include waiting for the blades to stop turning. We jumped out of the aircraft with all smiles getting in place to take some pictures. We would have high-fived but that had not been invented yet. All of a sudden, in the middle of the picture taking, a maniac appeared screaming at the top of his lungs. My first thought was "Oh Crap". I quickly found out he was the ground keeper and he was not a happy camper. He cussed me like a sailor for landing on his turf saying something to the affect that the skids on my helicopter were going to put ruts in the ground and mess up his playing field. What he didn't know and I wasn't about to tell him, is when you shut the aircraft down, the fuel lines purge and a pint or more of jet fuel is dumped on the ground. The results of that would not turn up until I was long gone. So about the time I got this great American calmed down, a rabid Captain showed up and began ripping my butt and wanted to know who gave me permission to land there. Well after I lied...I mean, talked my way out of that one, Mac and I jumped in the aircraft, fired it up and left. We were laughing about what we had just gotten away with when I got a call from headquarters over the radio. The message was, "The Colonel wants to see you immediately". Needless to say that radio call killed the laughter and all I could think of was, my career is over, I'm a dead man, I'll never fly again and I wonder how bad the Alpha Charlie (Ass Chewing) was going to be. We bee-lined straight to the airport so I could get this over with as soon as possible. I parked the bird and reported to the ol' man. I could tell he wasn't happy when I walked into his office. He didn't let me down either. He started ripping me the second I started into his office. He started off with, "Lieutenant what the hell were you thinking?" "I can't believe you landed that helicopter in the Orange Bowl and didn't ask me to come along so I could have flown in there with you". "I've been wanting to do that since we got here." I knew then I was still in business. I said I wouldn't make that mistake again and was on my way. I immediately jumped back in the aircraft and took off. I flew over the Orange Bowl and as I looked down I could see the brown spot already forming where the fuel had dumped on the ground. I just smiled and thought, yep that was me, and I thought again, "....and they pay me to do this...there is a God"......Army Daze.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
There I was 10,000 feet.....
It was a beautiful day out, visibility unlimited (if there is such a thing), winds calm (except at altitude) and we were supporting the Green Beret Sport Parachute Club at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. John Raybon and I volunteered to fly the jump mission that weekend in support of the "GB" club (My dad always told me to never volunteer for anything while in the Army, I should have listened). We were flying the UH-1H helicopter (the Vietnam work horse, the UH standing for Utility Helicopter and the other H indicating the model) taking jumpers to 10,000 plus feet as the jump altitude. We had made several elevator trips that morning and had commented on how strong the winds were at altitude. It's amazing how sluggish the huey helicopter gets at that altitude due to the air density or lack there of. At 10,000 plus feet you have to be very gentle on the controls because you didn't want anything bad to happen. To many bad aerodynamic things can happen to explain in this blog. We always joked, "It's not the fall but the sudden stop that hurts". We call it decelerating forces. Anyway, at that altitude and flying into a strong head wind, when you looked down at the ground through the chin bubble of the aircraft it looked like you were flying backwards. A strange sensation and eerie to say the least. The jump run was always flown into the wind and we received minor heading changes from the Jumpmaster to ensure we hit the correct release point for the jumpers. Like I said, John and I had commented on how strong the winds were that day at altitude but it wasn't that unusual, at least to any great concern, so we continued the mission.Well we piled a new group of jumpers on board, all friends of ours, because if we weren't flying these guys we were usually jumping with them. We took off and climbed to altitude. Everything was good to go as we made a right turn to begin the jump run. I was flying the aircraft, being easy on the controls and could feel the wind pushing the aircraft sideways in the turn. The turn was real gradual. Remember I was being easy on the controls and didn't want any big attitude changes at that altitude. John was half turned in his seat looking and talking to the jumpers over the intercom system in the aircraft as we made the turn. Things were going great when all of a sudden there were two or three loud bangs that came from the engine, hell it could have been 10 bangs, all I knew was it was loud and the aircraft was shuttering like mad. As the sequence started, I leveled the aircraft, looked at John and just the look on his face unnerved me and by the time I looked back at the instrument panel to get an indication of what was happening, the damn engine quit. It's amazing how fast or how slow things happen when the shit hits the fan. There I was 10,000 feet and not wanting to be there. The jumpers exited the aircraft immediately. So much for friends sticking around in a crisis. I had already lowered the collective and entered autorotation keeping the aircraft at an 80 knot attitude. I was already looking for a place to land because we were falling like a rock. In the aviation world, planes glide, helicopters fall like expensive rocks.It's strange how quiet it gets at 10,000 feet when the engine quits. You hear sounds you've never heard before and sounds I never wanted to hear again. As we bounded towards mother earth it was nothing but assholes and elbows in the cockpit. As I flew the aircraft, John quickly got the check list out and opened it to emergency start procedures. As John was getting everything in the cockpit ready to pull the trigger for a restart, I kept thinking, hurry up John, hurry up John, hurry up John but I never said it out loud.The procedure for starting is fairly simple but simple is not fast enough when falling like a rock. I wasn't tooooo worried, easy for me to say now, because landing with no power was no problem. We had practiced this many times flying the aircraft to the ground from an autorotation but it's just damn unnerving knowing it's the real thing. Well at about 3000 feet, John pulled the trigger and we were able to get powered flight back at about 1,000 to 1,500 feet. We landed the aircraft safely, shut it down, climbed out, kissed the ground and called the maintenance officer. He said we probably had a compressor stall and that he would come out and fly it back. Well, while he and another maintenance officer flew the aircraft back, John and I went to the GB club and had a nice cold beer, probably two.John was a great friend. He was later killed in a helicopter accident in El Salvador.
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